


AKA Your Beloved

by JobethDalloway



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5722504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JobethDalloway/pseuds/JobethDalloway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kilgrave has been dealt with and Luke leaves, memories of shared kisses many years in the past bring mixed emotions to Jessica and Trish. (Mostly, I am very interested in the progression of their relationship from tentative co-existing teenagers to such close friends. And ... more.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Thanks for checking out my first foray into Trish/Jessica. What a fantastic couple - I'm really enjoying digging into their relationship. 
> 
> I'd also like to dedicate this piece to my dear friend, Rachelle :) Happy reading!

Jessica Jones had always been something of an insomniac, but ever since the accident, it had gotten much worse. She could not just lie down when she was tired and hope to doze off; sleep had to drag her from consciousness. She considered getting her hands on some pills, even something innocuous like melatonin, but she'd had a neighbor die from overdosing at a young age and she was wary of taking something that could limit her self-control. Often she would sit on her bed with only a dim lamp on to give her enough light to doodle or read by – usually with her door closed, but if she forgot to get to it, she was usually too lazy to get up and remedy that. She had learned to recognize the tread of Mrs. Walker (often accompanied by a date, usually never the same one) and her daughter. No words were ever exchanged.

Until tonight, when Jessica had decided to finally watch an episode of _Patsy_ for the first time. It was a rerun of the second season’s finale, broadcast while everyone was hard at work shooting season three, and Jessica had to admit that Trish was actually more charismatic and charming on TV than she'd assumed. Trish usually didn't get home until quite late; tt was just past 11:30 at night when Jessica heard her footsteps coming down the hall, and she timed the asking of her question to coincide with when Trish would just be walking past her open door.

“So what is it like, is it weird?”

A pause. Jessica sensed Trish was weighing the benefits of pretending she hadn’t heard the question and just walking on. But after a few moments, Trish backtracked, not quite stepping into the room. “Hm?”

“Kissing. On TV, I mean.”

That got her attention, and Trish warily stepped inside. “Why’re you suddenly so curious?”

Jessica offered a half-hearted shrug. When it seemed Trish was going to leave, she threw out – in the most bored voice she could muster – “I dunno. I was just flipping channels tonight and I saw one of—part of one of the episodes of your show, when you kissed that guy.”

“Black hair or blonde?”

“Blondie.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Given your total lack of enthusiasm, I have to assume the actual act of kissing on set isn’t as titillating as the glitz and glamor of TV would like us to believe.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Trish asked, her tone not quite mean but still heavily sarcastic. She ventured further inside the room, arms folded. “It sucks, yeah. You’ve got to do tons of takes, first of all. And there’s dozens of crew members, most of whom you’ve never met, all sitting around watching you. The first take we did, I closed my eyes and kinda missed and only got, like, half of his lip,” she admitted with a small laugh, and she was bolstered to see that got a tiny grin—the first she’d seen—out of Jessica. Trish braved a few more steps closer as she got somber once again. “The director can make it pretty horrible, though. Sometimes they’re nice and don’t want to push you when you’re clearly uncomfortable, but they can be total tyrants, too.”

“They? You’ve had more than one?”

“Sure; lots of directors work on TV shows. That kiss you saw—ugh, the director was the worst. After each take he kept telling Gordon that he was doing a fantastic job, but then he’d just lay into me. Kept telling me I had to be more seductive, or not pull back so quick, or look more excited, or touch Gordon’s face, or whatever.”

“Sounds like an asshole.”

“He could be kinda gross, yeah.” When Jessica didn’t ask any follow-up questions (though she was desperately trying to think of one so Trish wouldn’t leave), Trish wondered if she could stay longer. She didn't often get the chance to be candid, especially about work. After a few moments, she figured that Jessica was usually upfront enough that if she wanted to be alone, she’d have told Trish to get out. So, she took the opportunity to get a couple more things off her chest. “Um. The first time I had an on-screen kiss, I was twelve. The guy I kissed was sixteen.”

“Ew, what? Is that even legal?” Jessica asked, her voice thick with disgust.

Trish shrugged, arms still folded. “Technically, sure. We were both minors. And besides, it was my first movie—my first anything—so I didn’t feel like I could complain, and my mother sure as hell wasn’t going to.”

“Was that your first kiss ever?”

Trish’s immediate instinct was to say yes, but after giving it a moment’s thought, she realized that wasn’t the case. She hesitated, then sat down on the foot of the bed, far away from Jessica. “Sort of.”

“Sort of? What’s that mean?”

“It means, um…” Trish laughed self-consciously. “You’re gonna think it’s dumb.”

There were few things Jessica loathed more than being baited – a habit most of the kids at her school seemed to enjoy, whether they were fishing for compliments or sympathy, or trying to tempt someone with a juicy piece of gossip. But Trish’s vulnerability was so obvious and her sudden timidity so out of character that Jessica could not bring herself to scoff.

“Try me.”

Trish nodded, staring at a spot on the bed. “When I was really little, like five or six, we had the neighbors over for a barbecue. They had a son my age. His name was Cody.” She took a deep breath to steady herself, embarrassed to find that tears were stinging her eyes. “We were playing house. I had this beautiful playhouse I loved, that was maybe five feet high and four or five wide. There was a little table and kitchenette thing in there, so I told him to sit down and we’d pretend to be married. I put a little plastic plate in front of him and he grabbed my wrist and he said if we were married, we should kiss, because married people kiss. I said okay, but then he kept saying ‘one more’ and I—I hated it. I guess that doesn’t really count as kissing, but he kept putting his mouth on mine even though I didn’t want him to. Now that I’m saying it out loud, I’m realizing I should’ve just pushed him and run away, but I was afraid he’d tell my mother and that she’d get upset with me, and since the days I started to understand speech, I have learned that upsetting my mother is the fastest way to an early grave.”

This was the longest conversation they’d ever had, and certainly the most Trish had ever said to her at once. Jessica fidgeted. She’d never been very good at comforting people, and after losing her family, she’d especially become hostile to the idea of vacant, automatic apologies. She didn’t want to just hand one of those along, but she had to say something.

“This Cody kid. Is he in Westchester?”

“No, this was back when we were in L.A.”

“Oh.” Jessica snorted. “You know what, though? If your guys’ parents had seen what was going on, they’d have probably just laughed. Probably encouraged him, thought it was cute that he was trying to be all affectionate. It’s sick.”

“You wouldn’t have stood for it, would you?” Trish asked with a sad smile. “You’d have shoved him right off you.”

Jessica shrugged (an action Trish was starting to notice seemed to be her default reaction to most things). “Sure, maybe. My mom always told me I should never let anyone touch me if I didn’t want them to.”

This contrast to Mrs. Walker wasn’t spoken, but Trish could hear the words rattling around inside Jessica: _your mother’s livelihood is selling your body to other people, letting them touch you whenever THEY want to, even especially when you don’t want them to. That’s sick. She made you sick._ But then Trish was immediately struck with the realization that this was the first thing she had ever heard Jessica say about anyone in her family.

“She sounds smart, your mom.”

“Yeah. She was.” There was yet another shrug, and Jessica cast about quickly for a way to divert the conversation back to being about Trish. “So, um. Was that it, then? Aside from that little jerk-face Cody and your TV hunks, have you ever been kissed?”

“No.”

Jessica was surprised by the immediate honesty. “How come? There must be loads of guys who’d like to kiss you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to kiss them,” came the terse reply.

“Oh. Well, um…” (Is she blushing? Trish wondered.) “I actually haven’t, either. In real life, and definitely not on television. So uh, solidarity?” She held out her fist for a bump.

Mrs. Walker’s voice came floating down the hall: “Patricia! Are you in bed yet? Your light’s still on! You need your beauty sleep, young lady! If you’re still up in two minutes, you’ll be doing promos through Christmas!”

Trish abruptly got to her feet, but she still bumped her fist against Jessica’s. “Goodnight, Jessica Jones.”

And so began a pattern: Jessica started leaving her door open a little wider at night, and Trish would come by to talk. At first, she’d knock on the doorframe and one of them would try to come up with a good ice breaker before she actually walked into the room. But as time passed, Trish would get ready for bed first and then just come right in, sitting on Jessica’s bed. Sometimes they would talk, but they’d often do other things like listen to each other’s favorite music, or read. Jessica would often moan about how lucky Trish was to just have an on-set tutor as Trish would help her work her way through a homework assignment.

“Are there any subjects you _do_ like?”

“I dunno. It’s more like which subjects suck the least, y’know? Like, chemistry isn’t always horrible. Or math. I like equations; they’re like mysteries. It’s something you get to figure out, and the answer’s always different. It’s not like history, where the outcome of the War of 1812 is always the same, or English, where _The Great Gatsby_ always ends the same.”

“Okay, I will give you a hundred dollars if you can tell me what actually happened during the War of 1812, or what happens at the end of _The Great Gatsby_.”

“Um…” Jessica started to laugh, and that got Trish going as well. “War of 1812. Someone wrote an overture? Come on!” she cackled. “That’s gotta be worth something? A ten-spot, at least.”

“I’ll give you five if you can hum it.”

Jessica told her to shut up and hand back her English homework.

She continued to work on her essay while Trish continued going over a script. The next time Jessica glanced up, she saw that Trish had fallen asleep, leaning against the wall. With no idea how long she’d been that way, Jessica gave Trish’s leg a nudge with her foot. “Hey, yo, Trish.” Trish’s only response to this was to sigh a little dreamily, then slide off the wall and fully onto the bed. “Trish, c’mon, go to bed.”

“I like that,” came a throaty, very tired-sounding response.

“Like…what? Getting nudged?”

“No.” She sighed again, very deeply, with her eyes closed. “I like that you call me Trish. Sounds so much better than freaking Patsy…that name is dumb. And Patricia makes me sound like an old lady.”

“Um…okay, well, glad I could help.” Jessica glanced at the door. “But come on, you can’t fall asleep in here. If you’re not in your own room by the time your mom gets home from—”

“Not coming home,” Trish mumbled. “Didn’t you see the note Roseanne left on the fridge? Mom’s gonna stay over at her sister’s in New Canaan tonight. She must’ve phoned earlier.”

“Huh. Teenage TV star is home alone, and doesn’t throw a kegger? That must be one for the tabloids.”

“Half the staff is here, genius,” Trish chuckled. “Roseanne went home, but the cook, the chauffer, and whoever the hell else are in their place on the grounds.”

“Bet if you gave ‘em some hush money, they wouldn’t say anything. Bet you could even get them to do the dry cleaning afterwards, too.”

Trish laughed again, half-burying her face into the pillow she was snuggling. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a party girl type.”

“I’m not. Quiet evening at home’s plenty good enough for me.”

She said nothing more, and Trish asked nothing more. It had only recently occurred to Trish to wonder about Jessica’s friends – where they were, if she had any. It seemed like she spent all her spare time at home in her room, and she never had any friends over. To be fair, it wasn’t as though Mrs. Walker had openly invited her to do so, but still, Trish would’ve expected it to at least come up. For her part, Jessica didn’t like to talk about it. She used to have a small group she’d hang out with at school, but none of them were people she’d consider close friends. None of them had really tried to comfort her after the accident, never going beyond the staple “I’m so sorry for your loss” remarks; and besides, she wasn’t sure what she’d have said if they did. She had made a habit of self-isolation, and nobody had tried to even peek through the curtains she’d drawn around herself.

That is, they hadn’t until now. An international television star was curled up on her bed, fast asleep.

Not having attended a sleepover since she was ten years old, Jessica wasn’t sure of the protocol here. _Should I wake her up? I should wake her up, right? Tell her to go to her own room…? How much is she going to freak out if she wakes up and realizes what happened? Is she gonna think it’s weird if I go to bed while she’s asleep in here?_

These contemplations kept cycling in her mind for several minutes, getting her to no conclusion fast. Finally she turned off her light, wondering if that might somehow jar Trish awake. Nothing happened. Jessica shifted her legs under the covers, tugging the blanket up to cover herself. Trish—lying on top of the blankets—stirred a little, but didn’t seem to wake. She was hugging a pillow close to herself as if it were a teddy bear, and Jessica couldn’t bring herself to wake her up.

_She looks so cute like that._

Around the time this thought floated across her mind, Jessica realized a wide smile had somehow made its way onto her face. Obviously no one else had seen it, but she instinctively replaced it with a scowl and turned on her side, away from Trish.

_It’s not that weird if she sleeps here. It’ll be fine._

When Jessica woke up the next morning, Trish was gone. She wasn’t sure if this was a huge relief or disappointment; surely there would’ve been some awkwardness? Maybe Trish even woke up in the middle of the night and went back to her own room then. But that seemed like an unlikely scenario, given that Jessica tended to be a light sleeper in the middle of the night, and that she’d been a little on edge last night in particular. Sharing a bed with Trish had been surprisingly nerve-wracking, and it hadn’t lead to the best night’s sleep.

It was going to be awkward when they saw each other next, and Jessica wished it would come sooner rather than later so it could just be gotten over with – but whenever _Patsy_ was shooting, they never saw each other before nighttime. Trish had to be on set early for hair and makeup, and Jessica liked to sleep in to the last possible moment before she had to get up to go to school. Trish was often on set for ten hours a day, which included her tutoring sessions. By the time she and her mother had gotten dinner, eluded Trish’s many legions of fans, and driven thirty miles home, it was generally quite late.

Tonight they were later than usual. Jessica had actually dozed off while drawing in bed, but she snapped wide awake when she heard Mrs. Walker’s voice bursting down the hallway. Yelling was par for the course, and normally Jessica would’ve just put on some headphones and played some Nirvana through it all, but this time she could hear Trish crying and she sat up immediately. At first she thought Trish was just being frog-marched to her bedroom, but they stopped in the bathroom first. Jessica stood up, walking slowly to the door as she tried to think of what she should do.

“No, please!” Trish cried.

“Shouldn’t have eaten all that pizza, should you?” asked Mrs. Walker. “Then we wouldn’t have to do this! You know the camera adds ten pounds, Patricia! Want them to call you Fatsy?”

There was a gagging sound, and that was it. Jessica pushed the bathroom door open. “Stop it!”

Mrs. Walker looked aghast at the interruption—not that Jessica was seeing what she was doing, but that she would dare assert herself like this. “Get out! This is private!”

“Let. Her. Go.”

“Jess, get out,” Trish said.

Jessica paid her no mind as Mrs. Walker straightened up. “This is family business. You’re not part of any family, least of all this one.”

“You promised not to save me,” Trish practically whimpered.

The reply was brusque: “Can’t help it.”

Mrs. Walker took Jessica’s arm in a tight grip, and that was it. Without a second thought, Jessica shoved her as hard as she could into the hallway, where she crashed against the wall hard enough to bring down several picture frames with her. Fear was evident in her eyes as she stared up at Jessica, and she scampered off when the girl flexed like she’d come at her again.

Jessica turned around, offering a hand of assistance to Trish. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

Trish stared up at her, not moving. “Now she knows.”

“Good.”

When two more seconds passed and Trish still hadn’t taken her hand, Jessica self-consciously withdrew it and walked out. She shut off her light and threw herself into bed, listening to her Walkman. After a while she closed her eyes, feeling tired but, as always, unable to fall asleep. When she opened her eyes again, it was to see a shadowy figure next to her bed. Imagining for a moment that Mrs. Walker had come to try and surprise-attack her in revenge, Jessica shot up, but swore in annoyance when she realized it was Trish.

“Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack,” she muttered, taking off her headphones. She wondered if she’d actually rather have a heart attack than the conversation they were surely about to get into.

But Trish only asked, “Was that weird? I mean…my sleeping in here last night.”

“Um…I dunno, was it?”

“Could I…” Trish sounded a little breathless, and it was only when she reached up to wipe at her eyes that Jessica realized she must’ve been crying. “Could I sleep in here again? I guess you wouldn’t like that, sorry. It’s just—lately when I close my eyes, I just see my mom trying to make me throw me up, and it’s like I can taste the bile in my throat. Or she’s stuffing those weight-loss pills down my throat till I can’t breath. I know, that must sound dumb. But it kinda helped to feel like I wasn’t alone.”

Their circumstances might’ve been somewhat different, but Jessica was sadly all too familiar with the horror of recurring nightmares.

“Yeah, whatever,” she mumbled, pulling the blanket back. “Guess your mom was trying to make some kind of statement to the media when she bought this big-ass bed for me, huh? Sure looked nice and luxurious in the photo shoot. It's way more room than I need. Get in if you want.”

Jessica’s eyes hadn’t adjusted enough to the dark yet to see that Trish was smiling as she did so. “Just tonight,” Trish said. “I promise.”

But of course, “just tonight” stretched into two nights, then three, then four, then five and so on. It seemed that Mrs. Walker had been sufficiently cowed by Jessica, and although she still barked orders around the set, she laid off at home. This meant Trish was able to stay up later than usual, which in turn meant that her mother—fearful of going down that hallway, lest Jessica decide to do something—had no idea the girls were sharing a bed at night.

“Are you drawing?” Trish asked one night. Jessica was sitting up by the headboard with a notebook while Trish was laid out with a script, her feet by the pillow. “What do you draw, can I see?”

“Nothing, and no.”

“Draw me,” Trish laughed, striking an over-the-top glamorous pose and causing Jessica to laugh as well. “Draw me like one of your French girls.” When the only response this got was an expression of confused disgust, she added, “Come on! That was a quote. Didn’t you see _Titanic_? Or is Leonardo DiCaprio not your dreamboat of choice?”

“Oh. Sure, I saw it. I just didn’t memorize the whole damn script is all.”

“I saw it six times. We even got to go to the premiere,” Trish said. “I’m kind of surprised you saw it, actually. I’d think it’d be too romantic for you.”

“You don’t know me,” Jessica deadpanned. “Besides, it’s a disaster movie. I dig movies where everyone dies.”

“Oh, come on,” Trish scoffed. “I’ve got your number, now. You try to act all tough and distant, but you’re secretly a romantic at heart, aren’t you?” There was no response to this, which seemed typical. Trish used her foot to nudge Jessica’s hip. “Hey. If you really liked watching people suffer, you wouldn’t have stepped in that day in the bathroom.”

Jessica shoved Trish’s foot away. “Watching it in the movies is different from seeing it in real life.” Annoyed that she had to make that distinction, she shut her notebook and threw it in the drawer of her nightstand, then rolled off the bed to walk to the bathroom.

Once she heard the shower water going, Trish figured it was safe to check out the notebook, reasoning that if Jessica really hadn’t wanted her to see it she would’ve taken it into the bathroom with her. There were some scattered history notes, but doodles took up most of the space. On some pages they were just tiny cartoons in the margins, but others were a bit more fully-formed, actual sketches. Towards the end of the notebook, Trish realized a lot of the figures looked like her. Her heartbeat sped up; she turned on the nightstand lamp and brought the book closer to her eyes.

This was very different from the fanart she received on a daily basis. Some of those portraits she found touching, especially the ones from younger kids, but others were a tad more off-putting: they were accompanied by notes declaring undying, zealous love befitting that of a stalker, or completed with mediums beyond crayons such what seemed to be actual human hair in an uncomfortable number of instances. The intention of most was surely innocent (at least, it helped her to think that), but she had to wonder if anybody actually considered for a moment how they might sound or the pictures might look to a complete stranger. Some drawings made it to her where she was posed sensually, sometimes only partially dressed (in scenes resembling nothing that had ever aired on _Patsy_ ). She was assured in writing that these were intended to be compliments, but surely they had to know how creepy it was?

Jessica’s drawings weren’t fantasies. None of them even appeared to have been done outside of Trish’s presence, for they captured moments the two of them had shared together in this room: Trish laughing over some newspaper comic strips; listening to Nirvana for the first time, eyes closed, leaning against the wall with headphones on; brooding as she pored over a script. She was impressed with the amount of emotion Jessica was able to get through with relatively little detail, and wished she could discuss them with her. Compliment her on them. Tell her how nice it felt to be noticed in a low-key environment.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she realized the shower wasn’t running anymore. She quickly returned the notebook to its drawer and resumed her former position, reading script revisions. Jessica had actually come out of the bathroom a couple of minutes ago and seen Trish looking at the drawings. Seeing Trish’s face light up filled Jessica with a warmth she hadn’t felt in months.

_Wish I was good at talking about this stuff so she’d know. Damn emotions._

“Is it cool if I shut this off, or do you need it?” Jessica asked, standing by the light switch.

Trish shut the script and tossed it onto the floor. “Oh, go ahead.”

When the nightstand lamp had gone off as well, they were lying next to each other as usual, Jessica on her back and Trish on her side, facing the wall. When they’d been in the darkness only a couple of minutes, Jessica whispered an apology, prompting Trish to turn onto her other side and ask, “What?”

Jessica’s voice was short and impatient, relaying how upset she was with herself for being unable to articulate herself in a more compassionate way. “I know you told me not to save you, but I should have done something sooner anyway. About your mom, I mean. It shouldn’t have taken…I mean, I should’ve done something about it. I’m sorry.”

By contrast, Trish’s voice was soft. “Don’t be sorry. Even if we weren’t friends like we are now, you’d have still stepped into that bathroom. We’re friends, aren’t we?” she added, sounding anxious.

“Huh. Yeah, I guess so,” Jessica said thoughtfully.

Trish’s hand found hers in the darkness. “Is this okay?”

Feeling safe—unexposed—in the dark, Jessica squeezed her hand. “Yeah.”

Still on her side, Trish scooted a little closer. She took her hand out of Jessica’s loose grasp in favor of resting her arm over the girl’s stomach. This was likely pushing it, especially given the sharp inhale it produced from Jessica. _Nobody touches you unless you want them to, I remember. I know._ “Um, what about this?”

To her surprise, Jessica shifted so that her arm could snake under Trish’s shoulders, her hand grazing her waist. “It’s fine. It’s good.”

With her chin near Jessica’s shoulder, Trish squeezed her a little closer. As it got later, she began to feel heavier, and Jessica was able to deduce that she’d finally fallen asleep. At some point in the middle of the night, she gave Trish’s forehead a gentle kiss.

_Don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll be here._


	2. Chapter 2

Jessica Jones usually wasn’t afraid to call a spade a spade, but she would’ve hated to call her new nightly ritual with Trish for what it was: “cuddling.” But that was really the only appropriate term when, night after night, Trish would curl into her side and Jessica would hold her close. The first couple of times, Trish had still asked if it was all right, waiting for verbal acquiescence before doing anything. Soon, though, it became a habit – a position they went into as soon as Jessica turned out the light. Normally they didn’t speak at all, but after they’d been doing this for a week, Trish decided to finally brave some conversation.

“Hey?”

“What?” Jessica grumbled.

“How come we never talk about boys?”

Jessica's tone belied impatience, but not aggravation. “Why would we talk about boys?”

“I don’t know, I mean, one of the first things we really ever talked about was kissing. I guess I’ve just been wondering if there are any guys at school that you think are cute.”

Jessica grunted. It felt weird to talk about guys while her arm was around a beautiful, sweet girl who really seemed to enjoy being close to her. “Objectively, sure. I dunno, I don’t think about that stuff very much.”

A pause, then, “Do you _like_ boys?”

“What? Yes! I do. I just have standards, is all.”

“Moral standards?”

“No, I mean standards about guys. Everyone at school is a dumbbell.”

“Fair point,” Trish chuckled. “Um...does that mean you still haven’t been kissed yet?”

“Nope, still haven’t. Still don’t care.”

“Oh, okay.”

“…why, did you have your first one off-set?” Jessica asked, hating that a hint of desperation had managed to tinge the question.

“Nope, still haven’t. I care a little a bit. Well, a lot, actually.”

“Okay…” She’d allowed a little trepidation to creep into those two syllables, and Jessica sighed heavily. “What, do you want me to just do it and get it over with?”

“What?” Trish asked, sounding not disgusted but fairly surprised.

“You sound antsy to get it over with. Or are you just waiting for the right person to come along, like saving yourself for it?”

There was a painfully long silence, during which Jessica tried to calculate how difficult it would be to throw herself out of the nearest window. Before Jessica could toss out the first snarky thought that came to mind, Trish said, “I guess I was kind of waiting for the right person.” It was difficult not to interpret this a certain way when she said it while propped up slightly, her hand on Jessica’s chest, giving her the perfect opportunity to feel the rapidity of her heartbeat.

Jessica shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, so…”

Trish was all but hovering over her, feeling like she was on the edge of a great precipice. It was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. She knew that as a famous TV star, she was the envy of millions of people around the world who did not and never would know her. The glamor, the fame, and the money all seemed so appealing that it blocked out any thought of the potential negatives: the total lack of privacy, the lack of control over her own life, the constant shuttling about. It had never left her time to become close to anyone. The only people she ever really saw were her co-stars, and while she got along fine with most of them on set, she didn’t really like any of them well enough to spend time with them when they weren’t working. She’d never been able to develop a close friendship with anyone, much less be intimate in any way with someone.

_Friends don’t usually do this, though. What we do. They don’t usually sleep together like this. Right? She must feel something of what I feel, like it's special…_

The most important thing, though, was that Trish strongly felt that even if her inklings were incorrect, Jessica would never say anything about it. She'd never gossip to anyone at school or go ratting to any reporters that Trish Walker had made a move on her. She could be trusted.

“Trish, what’re you…?”

Trish was breathless: “Do you want to?”

“I’m not gay,” Jessica said, her tone a little defensive.

“Me neither," came the quick response. "I just thought…I mean, it was your idea.”

“I was just joking around.” _No I wasn’t. Oh, my God. Dear God. God. God, are you there? Please stop me from saying anything else._

Trish slowly moved off her, lying on her back. “Yeah, so was I,” she said in the least convincing delivery of her life on- or off-screen.

_Shit. Shit, you idiot. Shit. Do something._

Jessica rolled onto her side, muttering “God dammit” and feeling for Trish’s face in the dark. Once her fingers had a more secure hold on the girl’s cheek, she braced herself and leaned down for a kiss. She missed a little bit in the dark, catching part of Trish’s lower lip but mostly her chin. Her stomach lurched uneasily, but Trish’s laughter—light, nervous, forgiving—encouraged her to try again. This time she brushed her thumb along Trish’s mouth before meeting it with her own, to much greater success. Trish’s hands went up to rest in Jessica’s hair. Within moments, Jessica had lowered herself more fully on top of Trish, their limbs knocking together a little awkwardly but doing nothing to diffuse any of the enthusiasm brimming between them.

Eventually Jessica broke it off, breathing deeply.

“What’s wrong?” Trish asked in immediate concern. “Did I mess up?”

“No,” Jessica managed, somewhat breathlessly. _I just wasn’t ready for that. Wow. God damn it, wow. Oh man._ “No, Trish. You were perfect. Take two?”

And thus another new habit was born. Nothing helped Trish get through a slow work day like thinking of nighttime, when she would be cozily lying next to someone who truly cared about her – as a person, not an asset – and get to make out with them. Jessica would hate to admit it to anyone, even herself, but she knew she’d zoned out in class more than once lately while thinking about Trish. Specifically, thinking of things she’d like to do to her in bed…

Not that anything felt perfect right away, so to speak. Spit played a more prominent part than either of them would have liked or necessarily expected as they figured out more of the logistics. But there was a mystifying lack of self-consciousness when they were together, at least most of the time, and that helped them to laugh over anything that might’ve otherwise been mortifying.

There was an unspoken comfort to the darkness, too. Jessica wasn’t sure she’d have been able to do anything akin to cuddle with, let alone kiss Trish if there was much more light. The darkness helped it all feel like a dream somehow, like it wasn’t real – just an escape. A fantasy. Something that likely further helped this was the fact that for a long time they never went beyond making out; they never really even came that close. In retrospect, Jessica wasn’t sure if that was because of their dual inexperience and (to a degree) innocence, or because they shared some sort of subconscious concern that going any further would make what they were doing too real.

Although Jessica had been the first to ever initiate it, every night afterwards it was Trish. They had both been a little shy the night afterwards, but once the light was off and they’d resumed their usual position, Trish had tentatively asked “can I kiss you?” and Jessica grunted her permission. So it was each night – Trish always asked first.

One night, though, Trish’s first question was, “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh…sure?”

“Am I doing okay?”

“What?”

Trish cringed a bit at the impatience in Jessica’s tone. “H-how am I doing?”

“You want me to evaluate you? Like I’m one of your directors? I thought you said you hated when they did that.”

“I do hate when they do it. Bossing me around, having to kiss a guy I barely know that well, on a set in front of dozens of people, because it’s written in a script—that’s different from kissing y—you.”

Jessica licked her lips and moved a little closer. One arm was tucked beneath Trish’s shoulders, the other resting partially on the girl’s stomach as she brushed her fingers against Trish’s. “So you like doing this, right? It’s not just, like… practice for you or something?”

Trish nodded fervently. “I like it.”

“Yeah, well.” She leaned over for a kiss, teasing Trish’s lips apart and sliding her tongue inside. There came that familiar feeling of _it’s too hot, you’re wearing too many clothes_ – which seemed to arise whenever she did this, whenever she could feel Trish shiver in direct response to something she, Jessica, did. She pulled back a little, planting a kiss on Trish’s mouth, her dimple, her cheek. “You’re good at it,” she murmured. “Jesus, Trish. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Trish gasped, taken completely off guard by her physical reaction to the word Jessica had just dropped. She squirmed, pressing her legs together. “ _Shit_ ,” she whispered, not sure whether to laugh or be horrified.

“Wow! Such language, Patsy!” Jessica snickered. “Isn’t in your contract or something that you have to maintain a certain level of clean lang—”

Trish silenced her by putting a finger to Jessica’s lips. “Shut up, you goddam smartass.”

Confronted with the possibility of doing something very real and impossible to take back, Jessica responded by licking Trish’s finger in a purposefully gross manner. This led to the intended result of Trish laughing hysterically and pulling back. She grabbed a pillow and smacked Jessica with it, and she laughingly responded in kind. But soon enough, Trish had dropped the pillow and taken hold of Jessica’s face with both hands, pulling her into a kiss.

_What are we doing?_

_I don’t know._

_Are we still on the same page? What page was it, anyway?_

_I don’t know._

It was beyond clear that Trish was more excited than usual, and Jessica was trying to figure out where she was herself when Trish suddenly pulled away, throwing herself onto her back. “Phew!” she laughed, heaving deep breaths. “Wow. Um. Wow. You really know how to get someone going, Jessica Jones.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Jessica snorted, chuckling a little bit as she considered the different levels that statement could work on.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Trish said, her voice a little hoarse. She abruptly sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and getting out. “Sorry, gotta pee.”

Jessica didn’t count the minutes, but for the urgency Trish had displayed in getting out of the room, it seemed she had been gone a little longer than she should’ve been. When she returned, she crawled back across the bed and slipped under the covers. Both of them were lying on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. Jessica waited a few moments, then asked in the flattest voice she could muster, “So, did you relieve yourself?”

“Ohhh, my God!” Trish laughed, covering her face with her hands.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed,” Jessica laughed. “It’s, uh, totally natural.”

“Is it natural that I feel like I could do it again, like right now? Is that weird?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Ugh, but it’s so cold out there, and so warm in here,” Trish groaned, pulling the blanket tighter in around herself.

A long silence followed, then Jessica said, “Just to clarify, you’re—not talking about pissing, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Right.”

“Um…well, you could take care of it here, if you need to. If you want to, I mean.”

“Really? That wouldn’t be weird?”

Jessica shrugged the best she could while lying down. “I don’t know, no?”

“ _Okay_ ,” Trish whispered, sounding grateful.

Jessica had wanted to try and stay casual, but her eyes swung instantly left to watch as Trish’s hand dove under the covers. And then she felt her body moving as if of its own volition so she could lie a bit more on her side, watching unapologetically as Trish writhed a bit, her breathing short. She was waiting for Jessica to make some kind of teasing comment, feeling the girl’s eyes on her, yet none came. Her initial instinct had been to try and stifle any of the sounds she made, but she felt strangely exhilarated and uninhibited with Jessica watching her. A series of soft whimpers – each one seeming to make a different hair on Jessica’s neck stand on end – turned into a desperate moan.

“Shit,” Jessica muttered, turning to glance at the door and make sure it was closed. With a nervous laugh, she said, “You’re gonna wake someone up!”

“Oh, plea—'s not that loud,” Trish managed.

But the comment made her decide to make a more concentrated effort to be quiet, not realizing the sounds of her stifled breathing were still incredibly arousing. Hell, even the sound of the sheets rustling over her hand was arousing. When another moan slipped out, Jessica instinctively leaned over to kiss her. Given that her eyes had been closed, Trish was entirely caught off guard; she gasped, teeth bumped, and her free hand clumsily reached to grab hold of Jessica's head. Their positioning was more than a little awkward, as Jessica wanted to be close to her without restricting the movement of Trish's dominant hand. Trish’s body jerked suddenly; she bit Jessica’s lip and turned sharply to the side, half-burying her face into a pillow and moaning into it.

_Holy shit. Holy shit, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Ever heard. Ever felt. Bleeding lip and all. Holy shit._   _That was beautiful. She let me be part of something beautiful._ Jessica rolled onto her back, her breathing as deep as Trish’s. _Oh, no. So wet._

She was still reeling from having been allowed to share that experience with Trish, but felt overwhelmed by the obligation that she should reciprocate. _Don’t think of yourself. Don’t do it. You can’t. Stop it._

A few moments later, Jessica rolled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom and didn’t come back for a short while. When she got back into bed, there were no smart remarks or teasing comments; Trish just cuddled up next to her, resting her head on Jessica’s chest.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, fine. You?”

“Mm-hm.”

"Cool. Good."

* * *

“It was my fault.”

They were lying side by side in the dark, but Jessica’s voice still somehow sounded far away. Trish propped herself up a little. “What?”

“It was my fault. The crash.”

Trish was silent for a few moments, waiting for more details, but that seemed to be all Jessica could offer at the moment. Finally Trish asked, “What…how can that be? It was a car accident, you weren’t driving…”

“I got into a fight with my brother over a stupid fucking Gameboy. My dad turned around in the seat to yell at us—at me—and… that’s when the truck…”

She had never liked to cry in front of other people, or even really acknowledge much emotion in front of them. Trish usually had a way of making her feel less self-conscious about things that she normally guarded, but Jessica couldn’t bring herself to cry openly because of the fear that Trish would shame her, reject her, be horrified by her admission. When tears started to fall, she cringed, curling onto her side away from Trish. She’d hoped that this could be a different sort of intimacy she could share with Trish, since she didn’t quite feel prepared to show exactly what Trish had. Maybe admitting that had been a stupid, selfish thing to do – but the guilt had been weighing on her like a cross, and she’d hoped that speaking the words out loud might help somehow relieve a little bit of that pain. But that was stupid, she didn’t feel at all better; in fact, she somehow felt worse.

But then she felt Trish press up against her back, reaching her arm around so she could take hold of Jessica’s hand. Jessica felt a kiss on her cheek, and the harder she shook with half-repressed sobs, the closer Trish held her. The relief from pain did not come crashing over her like a wave, but it started to come in doses, like a slow rain that eventually picked up.

There was no “it’s not your fault,” no “don’t blame yourself,” no “God, you’re a monster! How do you live with yourself?!” Nothing Jessica had been expecting. For the most part, there was quiet. In fact, the most powerful thing she said was hardly even a syllable, let alone a word.

Jessica tried to speak: “If I hadn’t…”

And before she could finish the thought, Trish just said, “ _Sh_.”

After managing a few deep breaths, Jessica finally felt her tears start to subside. It was hard to wipe away at them, given that she was lying on her side and Trish was spooning her, but she did the best she could. She was grateful that when Trish spoke up again, she didn’t ask Jessica to turn over and look at her. (Why was it that people always thought that was the most sincere way to get things across?)

“I’m sorry a called you a freak before.”

Jessica almost laughed. “S’okay. I probably would have, too.”

“You _are_ gifted, though.”

“What’re you gonna tell me now, that… with great power comes great responsibility?”

“No,” Trish said, remaining serious even while she could tell Jessica was trying to lighten the grim mood she’d established. “But I think you’re honoring your family by using your gifts. I mean I know you said you don’t know if the accident caused them or not, but that doesn’t even matter. What matters is that now you know you have these powers, and you’re using them … altruistically.”

Jessica had to laugh at that – “altruism” had been one of her recent vocabulary words, and Trish had helped her study for the test. “Who am I helping?”

“Me,” Trish said, stunned that Jessica even had to ask. “I’m just one person, and maybe not worth much in the big picture, but you’re helping me. Going to work, like on set and stuff, that used to be kinda fun when I was younger and it was all new and exciting, but… I really don’t like it anymore. But even with that, I used to hate coming home even more than I hated going to work, because at least at work my mom kind of had to watch herself around me because other people were watching, listening. At home she could do whatever, she could treat me however she wanted once the staff was out of the house. She can’t do that to me anymore, and that’s because of you. I feel like I can be safe at home now because of you.”

That did it. Jessica turned herself over to face and hugged Trish to her as tightly as she could. They kissed for a short time, but were mostly content just to lie in each other’s time, both of them feeling a certain sure, acknowledged safeness for the first time. 

Trish's voice was the softest whisper, spoken as if she thought Jessica might be asleep. "Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you're the best friend I've ever had. You don't have to say it back - I just wanted you to know."

"Oh. I guess I didn't really think about it that much...but yeah, you are too." (It was too bad that she couldn't see the smile this had led to.) "Trish. What about the other stuff we're doing, though? What do you want?"

"What do  _you_ want?"

"I...I don't really know."

"Then let's not know together."

"Okay, but, um...can we try to have some kind of baseline or something, though? Like, all this - this is happening because we're friends. Oh God, I sound so cheesy," she groaned. "But I mean, let's agree. Friends first. It'd be nice to have a constant for a change."

"I get that," Trish murmured. "Friends first. Best friends forever!"

" _Ughhh,_ stop. You're not gonna, like, make us charm bracelets or something, are you?"

"Oh, my gosh! That's an amazing idea. Let's do that tomorrow."

"Shut up and go to sleep."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horny teenagers making poor decisions.

There was an emergency strip on the Henry Hudson parkway for drivers who were experiencing car problems, offering them a place to safely stop and wait for help to arrive. Trish was a little confused when her mother ordered their chauffer to pull over there when the car seemed to be in perfectly good working order. Speaking with her usual harsh tone, Mrs. Walker explained that she needed to make a call from the car phone and the driver needed to wait outside. He obeyed without question, and standing outside the tinted windows, he couldn't see that Mrs. Walker's hand went nowhere near the car phone.

Instead, she slapped her daughter across the face.

"Ow! Mom, what the—"

"Sleeping with her?! You're sleeping with her?! What the hell are you thinking, Patricia?!"

"H-how—"

"The help saw you! Roseanne was snooping around on Sunday morning, she must've been—she told me she went to get Jessica's trashcan to empty it, and saw the two of you lying in bed together like you were…!" She seemed too disgusted to even know how to finish the sentence, gesturing uselessly. "She's demanded an outrageous pay raise to keep from spreading the news that Patsy Walker is a dyke!"

"I'm not!" Trish retorted. "She's lying!"

"You think I don't know you'd do anything to try and undermine me? Don't lie to me, Patricia. I didn't raise you to be a liar." (No clarification came as to what, exactly, she had raised Trish to be.) "I will pay off Roseanne, and you will stop this deviant behavior. For God's sake, Patsy—I know you must think this is a real lark, getting at me like this, but what are you thinking?! Do you have any idea the kind of scrutiny you will receive if anyone ever caught word of this? You'd never work again. You could never show your face in public again. Do you understand that? If you have to act out—do anything else, do whatever you want, I don't care! Drink more, snort cocaine, drive under the influence—I don't care! Those are things that people are willing to forgive; the people who came before you have shown us that! But this? This is unforgivable, Patsy. Don't be an idiot. Don't be a dyke. Don't you dare be a dyke. Because even if it's all a joke to you, if the public ever finds out, they will never forget it. They'll never allow you to forget it."

"Yeah?" Trish muttered. "I thought no press was bad press."

"Whoever said that clearly never had to deal with anything as sick as this." Mrs. Walker shivered, her expression still similar to one she might've worn if a skunk had just walked by. "Patsy, try to think what people would say. Not only is she a girl, she's your adopted sister!"

"Right, you've made that clear to her," Trish said heavily.

"The point is, the rest of the world thinks she is," said Mrs. Walker, looking ready to slap her daughter again.

"Woody Allen married his 19-year-old stepdaughter and his career is as good as ever!"

"So?" Mrs. Walker laughed. "Darling, I love you and you're talented, but you're not Woody Allen. But, Jesus. If he'd tried to shack up with a stepson, you can bet he'd be out on his ass. Men will be able to get away with a lot more than you, but even this is something they wouldn't dare try and get away with. Now." She took a deep breath, trying to encourage Trish to do the same. "I'm going to fix this. Obviously for image's sake I can't just throw Jessica out, so you will need to make it clear to her that—whatever you've done is over." Her tone made it clear this was not negotiable. "I don't care how strong she is; I won't let her ruin your life and your career just because she's got a perverse infatuation with you."

"Don't call it that!" Trish snarled. "Perverse infatuation—you know what's a perverse infatuation? The drawings that men send to me in the mail! The way those guys on the crew talk about my cleavage and how you don't do anything about it! At least Jessica cares about me, and I care about her! What's so horrible about that?"

Any maternal tone Mrs. Walker had tried putting on vanished in that instant. "Grow up, honey. Boys will be boys—they're not doing anything to you, you're not being harmed in any way! Whatever Jessica's doing is incredibly damaging! Maybe we shouldn't be surprised, given those disturbing powers of hers. Never would've taken her in if I'd known she was one of those freaks."

"Don't call her that!"

"And on top of everything else, she's turning you against me! Patsy, sweetheart, how could you let her do that?"

Trish's mouth fell open, but she was lost for words. For someone so self-absorbed, her mother's lack of self-awareness was sometimes stunning. There were too many ways Trish could respond to that completely tone-deaf question, to the point that she was overwhelmed and had no idea where or how to start. Jessica had turned her against no one. If anything, Jessica had helped Trish turn to herself – to trust her voice, use her voice, even just in quiet conversation.

For as long as she could remember, Trish had been ordered about and spoken for by her mother. Once she had accepted that was her reality, she had grumblingly gone along with it for she did not know any different. But her weeks of late-night talks with Jessica had helped her really learn who she was, had helped lift the fear of speaking her mind.

"You don't know a damn thing about me, you bitch."

Mrs. Walker's jaw dropped. Trish had never sworn in front of her (much less at her) even on her TV show. Her reaction was almost immediate: she was ready to slap Trish again, but Trish had suspected it was coming and was able to grab her wrist to stop her.

"You can't slap me again. If you do, it's more likely to leave a mark, and it won't go away by the time we get to set. And furthermore, if Jess finds out what you've done, she'll break your arm off."

Mrs. Walker yanked herself free. "Jessica won't always be around to protect you, Patricia."

"I know that. I won't need her to. That was just a warning."

They sat in tense silence for a few moments, with Trish hoping that her stand was sinking in while her mother wondered if Jessica could be convinced to threaten Roseanne and keep her from talking. Eventually, Mrs. Walker seemed to change the subject entirely by saying, "Daniel has been talking with Jonny Driscoll's publicist, and they think it could be a productive idea to set the two of you up."

"Set us up?"

"Yes. You know Jonny's going to be launching a new show on the network in the time slot after yours, and it'd be ideal publicity. And furthermore, it'll help quash any disgusting rumors about you and Jessica that might come out."

Trish folded her arms. "I won't do it."

"You will. We're meeting with them during your lunch break today."

* * *

 

"Jessie."

Jessica jumped, startled, when she walked into the Walkers' house and saw its matriarch sitting on the couch in the living room. She'd done a pretty good job of not having to look at the woman's face ever since ejecting her out of the bathroom. She wasn't very fond of the smirk on Mrs. Walker's face, radiating the impression that she was pleased to have caught Jessica so off guard. Jessica adjusted the collar of her denim jacket and straightened up.

"Don't fuckin' call me that."

"Excuse me?"

"Jessie. It's like Patsy. You and your gross, cutesy little names. Don't pull that shit on me."

"Is that really the first thing you'd like to say today to the woman who took you in, has fed and clothed you, and given you a roof over your head—in the wealthiest town in the state, by the way?"

"Hm. Actually, the first thing I'd have said is that you're lucky I've been too lazy to change the batteries in my Walkman, or else I wouldn't have heard you and probably wouldn't have seen you."

Appearing unruffled, Mrs. Walker ignored the comment and said, "I'd like to have a little chat with you."

Jessica threw her backpack heavily down onto the floor. She folded her arms, feet apart. It wasn't an insolent move of childish defiance like Trish's cross behavior in the car; this struck Mrs. Walker more as a pose of someone who was ready to launch herself into a fight if needs be. "Yeah? I figured, given that you're here right when I got home from school. Is this the first time you've left Trish alone on set?"

Mrs. Walker just laughed softly. "Talk tough all you want, Jessica Jones. I know you think you have the superpowers to back it all up. But don't underestimate my powers. I could bury you if I wanted to. I could have you thrown in jail for the rest of your life if you touch me again—and you'll rot in a cell by yourself till you die, and nobody will care, and nobody will visit you."

Jessica yawned. "Why don't we leave the talking tough to me, you old cow? You're no good at it."

"I've taken the liberty of installing security cameras around this house," Mrs. Walker said, and she noted Jessica's gaze swiveling to the ceiling corners. "You won't see any of them, though. That's one of the many perks of being in show business," she said with a chuckle that made Jessica's lip curl. "Access to all the newest, showiest gadgets. Don't worry—I haven't put any of them in your bedroom, or the bathrooms. Just in places where I'll be. Where you might be tempted to follow and harm me."

"I'd never harm you unless you were posing some kind of threat to Trish."

"Yes, about that. It's come to my attention that you've developed something of a crush on my daughter."

Jessica scowled. "A crush? Look, lady, I know you think your daughter is hot shit just because she's a TV star, but—"

"Patricia confessed to it already," Mrs. Walker said, effectively shutting Jessica up. "Maybe you're too blinded by your own deviant obsession to realize it, but she was just trying to upset me by… by doing whatever it was she did with you. It was her attempt to rebel against me. You're just a pawn, Jessica, and she finally realized how disgusting it all was when her adopted sister come onto her with such unwanted attention."

She'd had more to say, but it was lost under Jessica's laughter. "Adopted sister? Come on. You've made it pretty damn clear to me—not to mention Trish—that I'm anything but a member of this family. And furthermore, you must be stupider than I thought if you think I'd believe anything you say about Trish. Sure, she's just using me as an act of rebellion. That's why she made sure it was so loud and out in the open." She scoffed. "I know her a hell of a lot better than you ever did."

"Oh, really? When you've known her less than a year and I've known her for her entire life?"

"It's the quality of time, Dottie. Not quantity."

Mrs. Walker set her jaw and switched tactics again. "Regardless, Patricia owned up to your deviant behavior. I know you care about her a great deal, even if you'd like to think you have this huge chip on your shoulder and make people think you don't care about anyone. And I'm also sure that you're doing whatever it is you're doing with her partly to spite me. But let me be clear: the only one you're hurting here is Patricia. Do you want to know how I learned about you two? Our maid saw you. With a significant rise in pay, she'll agree not to say anything. But if you're ever caught again—you'll ruin Patsy. She'll never be able to find work as an actor again. She'll be raked over the coals by every gossip columnist and celebrity magazine in the country. She'll be mocked, derided, vilified by the whole world—especially because, even if you don't feel this way, the world considers you to be sisters." She paused to make sure the weight of what she was saying really sank in. "Don't act out to get back at me. Think of Patricia."

"I _am_ thinking of her," Jessica snapped. "You fret about her career. That's all you think about. _I'm_ the one who always thinks about her."

Mrs. Walker stood and cautiously walked over, and it at least gave Jessica a modicum of satisfaction to be able to see that there was apprehension behind her would-be calm exterior. "Then, ah, perhaps we could agree that it would be best for all those involved if you were to… suddenly find an independent streak, perhaps? Decide to move out, of your own volition?" When Jessica did nothing but stare at her, she pulled a checkbook from her purse. "Name your price."

Jessica took the checkbook and ripped it in half. "Don't forget I could tear a phone book just as easily—or your spine, if I was so tempted. At the moment, I kind of feel like reaching down your throat and yanking out your vocal chords for trying to buy me off. Nope, I'm sorry. You took me in, and you're stuck with me until Trish turns 18 and can legally be free of you forever. Until then, there's only one thing you need to know about me and Trish." With a casual sigh, she stooped to pick up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. "I wouldn't leave her."

* * *

 

It was a little before midnight when Jessica noticed a note slid under her door. She took off her headphones and immediately went over to read it, recognizing Trish's handwriting right away:

_Looks like mom got to both of us. If you want to talk, come meet me in the backyard._

Trish had to admit to herself that she was a little surprised when Jessica actually came outside to join her. Neither of them brought this up as Jessica lay down next to her on the grass.

"Your door was closed," Trish finally said.

"Yep."

When no elaboration came, Trish asked, "Is it always gonna be closed from now on?"

A lump rose in Jessica's throat at the anxiety in Trish's voice. She swallowed it down best she could. "It doesn't have to be. We just… kinda need to shake up our routine a bit, y'know?"

"You want to stop what we've been doing?"

"No, I don't want to, it's just…" Jessica sighed in frustration. "You are so much bigger than us, whatever 'us' even is. If we got caught again, it could ruin you. Ruin your career, ruin your life."

"I don't care. Maybe that's what I'd like! Maybe I'm sick of _Patsy_ and wouldn't care if it all ended!"

"Trish, you're just gonna get remembered as some child star who became a —an incestuous lesbo!" she said, almost laughing. "I'm not gonna let that be your legacy! Look, Trish. People listen when you say stuff. I've seen you on talk shows and I've read your print interviews. I know there's a lot of BS your publicist and producers make you say, but the stuff that's you? It's important and it deserves to be listened to."

"Have you really watched and read all my interviews?" Trish asked, as if this were the most romantic thing she had ever heard.

Jessica snorted. "Yeah, whatever. Look, don't throw all that away, all your influence for good and that crap, just because I—we…"

"Just because we might be more than friends?" Trish offered quietly.

Jessica wondered what the symptoms of cardiac arrest were. She actually put a hand over her heart before curling her fingers into a fist. "Jesus, Trish, get real! You're my best friend, that was our baseline, remember? Don't get carried away."

"My mom—"

"Your mom sucks, but this isn't about her. It's about you taking care of yourself. It's about dealing with intense scrutiny regarding a very personal issue. Maybe you're used to that, but not something like this. And I know I'm sure as hell not. It was bad enough being questioned about the accident after your mom adopted me; I can't imagine people trying to horn in on something like this."

Trish bit her lip, and they deliberated in silence. On the one hand, she was accustomed to being hounded and harassed by paparazzi just walking down a street. But that didn't mean she liked it. She tried to imagine being asked about this new facet of her love life, the slurs that would be hurled her way. How people might take it out on Jessica if her name or face was revealed. Obviously she could take care of herself physically if someone ever got in her face with a camera (and Trish smirked a little, picturing it)… but she'd never forgive herself if Jessica was dealt even more emotional and psychological pain because of her. It simply wasn't right or fair.

So, to both of them it seemed that the best route for the other's well-being was to stop fooling around.

"Maybe you should be my bodyguard," Trish mused aloud, earning a loud laugh. "Hey, I'm serious!" she said, although she too was giggling. "I might really need one soon. My mom and my publicist want to set me up with Jonny Driscoll."

That immediately put an end to Jessica's laughter. "Jonny Driscoll? They're intentionally setting you up with that ass clown? What the hell?"

"He's got a new show that's gonna be airing after _Patsy_ ," Trish said, not even bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "So it's synergy for the network, or whatever. And they also thought dating me might soften up his image a bit."

"Uh, yeah! 'Cause he needs it! That guy's a trainwreck, Trish!"

Trish couldn't help smiling a little. "You know that, huh? I would've thought keeping up with celebrity exploits would be beneath you."

" _It is_ , which is why it's big friggin' deal if even _I_ know the guy is bad news. Big, hulking, steroid-taking—"

"Don't worry," Trish sighed. "We're not gonna actually be dating. It's all publicity, we'll never actually be alone together. We'll be on very public dates and at very public events. Awards shows and stuff."

"Awards shows, huh?" Jessica asked, sneering. "What, is he expecting an Oscar for _Butt Farts Booger Brain III_?"

"Uh, it's _Fart Butts Booger Brain_ , and there are four of them," Trish deadpanned back, and that at least got a small chuckle out of Jessica. "And also, I'll have you know, Jonny's won nothing but I've gotten two Kids' Choice Awards. So clearly, I'm the breadwinner here."

Jessica didn't say anything for a while, just staring up at the stars and waiting for Trish to say something else she could react to. When nothing came, Jessica finally said, "So do you wanna do it? Date Big McLarge Huge?"

"No, I don't _want_ to. But maybe it's for the best."

"Yeah," Jessica muttered. She blindly groped for Trish's hand, and when she found it, kept it only the gentlest grasp. Casual. As if she wouldn't care at all if Trish ever let go. "You'll be careful though, right?"

"Careful? What exactly do you think I'm going to do?"

"Nothing! I don't mean after-school-special careful, I just mean…be safe. You know if something ever happened, like—like he got drunk and crashed his car while you were in it, or he tried to take advantage of you or something—"

Trish's voice was patient: "I already told you, we won't be alone together."

But Jessica spoke over her: "—I will kick his ass. I don't care. I'll destroy him." When this garnered no immediate response, she added, "I mean it. He even looks at you funny, or says something creepy, or makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, you tell me. I'll teach him."

"Are you jealous?" Trish asked, fighting to keep her voice neutral.

"Please," Jessica scoffed. "I just want you to keep safe is all."

(She could not help wondering about things, though. Things like, _would your mom care about what we were doing if I was a boy? Probably not. But maybe, since I'm not famous. Maybe, since I'd still be your adopted sibling, technically. Maybe she wouldn't have adopted me if I'd been a boy. She probably thought an orphaned girl was sadder and more sympathetic. But none of this matters because I'm glad I'm a girl. And I'm glad she took me in. I'm so glad I met you. It'd be easier if we hadn't started something else, though…_ )

"We're friends," Jessica finally said. "Best friends, Trish. We can stay that way, right? That's enough. That's all I need."

"Okay," Trish agreed. "Do you know what might help?"

"What?" Jessica asked, desperate for anything.

"We should spend time together. Outside your bedroom, I mean. We don't even really have to go out, if that's not your style. We could play tennis or go swimming here on the grounds. We've got a pool and courts and everything."

Neither of those options particularly appealed to Jessica, but she wasn't about to shoot down the hope in Trish's voice. "Yeah, um, I could chill on one of those floaty pool things and draw while you swim or whatever."

_Do you swim in a two-piece? Is there a hot tub? Have you ever wanted to make out in one of those? Because I kind of have._

"And we should get you a pass for the train," Trish went on. "Then, if you wanted to, you could come hang out on set! I have lots of down time in between takes while they set up shots, so if that's something you'd ever be interested in…"

She was almost certain Jessica's reply would be sardonic, but: "Yeah, sure. That sounds like it'd be fun."

Trish rolled onto her side and gave Jessica's cheek a swift kiss. "Good."

Before Trish could roll away, Jess snuck an arm around her and pulled her in close. They held that position for some time; this one-armed embrace, with Trish on her side and Jessica on her back, starting to shiver a bit. Trish brought her free arm up to rest across Jessica's chest, her fingers touching Jessica's shoulder.

"Shit," Jessica whispered. "I've gotten really used to this. I like this."

_Me too. Me too, me too_. Trish all but ground her teeth to hold the words back. "One more time?"

They were young enough to be naïve, to hope that saying it'd be the last time would mean it'd be the last time, just like that.

Jessica slid her grip to the back of Trish's neck and turned her head to meet her in a kiss. It was a strange feeling: there was something wonderfully familiar and comforting about kissing Trish, but it was also exciting and made her stomach flip every time. Trish always did something different whenever they kissed. Nothing monumental, but tiny things that Jessica noticed (subconsciously or not) and could react to, be it a different breathing pattern, or the intensity of her grip. Tonight, Trish's fingers gently caressed Jessica's cheek in a way that somehow felt like one of the most intimate things she'd ever done. Even with Trish now lying on top of her, it felt like they couldn't get close enough to each other.

"Is…this safe?" Jessica managed between kisses. "I mean—will someone see us?"

"Mm-mm," Trish murmured, nursing the pulse point on Jessica's neck.

"Wait, did you say 'mm-mm' or 'mm- _hm_?'" Jessica asked, and Trish sat up a little with an exasperated, but affectionate, sigh. "What? Isn't that the concern, that we'll be caught?"

"None of the staff is in the main house anymore. They're all in their cabins on the grounds. If any of them try to get to the main house, a.k.a. what we're lying outside of right now, they'll trip the security alarm. Unless Roseanne is already lying in wait in the bushes, we're fine."

"Are we sure she's not?" Jessica asked. She raised her voice a little. "Because if she is, it's gonna be pretty uncomfortable for her when I find her and yank her heart out like that dude from Indiana Jones."

"Shhh!" Trish laughed. "You'll wake up my mom."

"Shit, she's even worse than the dude from Indiana Jones."

Trish chuckled again, then in answer to Jessica's unasked question: "After what happened with Roseanne seeing us, my mom said she's going to up security to make sure nobody gets in or out of the house before she wants them to. I think she's gonna actually hire a guy to stand where we are right now, just like keeping watch with a taser or something. She was screening guys today; I'm sure she'll have one here by tomorrow."

"Geez."

"I know." Trish bit her lip, resting her hand on Jessica's cheek again. She loved the way that Jess looked at her. It wasn't with bright eyes and a wide grin; in fact, there was barely a smile there at all. It was calm. Calm, and happy. It was quiet when so much of Trish's life was filled with noise and chatter and flashbulbs going off. This felt real. This was reassuring. "Jess? If this really is the last time we… we do anything, is there anything you want?"

"Huh?"

She wasn't as shy as she'd have thought—or maybe, because the idea had only just come to her, she hadn't had the time to get properly nervous. "I mean, is there anything you want us to do that you've wanted to?"

"Um…" Jessica's breath hitch as Trish's hand wandered down to her hip, traveling slowly up her side. "Stop," she whispered, taking gentle hold of Trish's wrist. _You could just tell her that you think going any further now would just make it harder to stop. Which is true. Don't be a moron. But you could also maybe tell her… it's nothing to be ashamed of…_ "I've been felt up on the subway a couple times," she said, and Trish instantly removed her hand from where it had strayed near Jessica's breast. "I'm sorry, it just feels weird to have your hand right there. Like, on purpose."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you told me. I won't do it."

"Thanks."

"Is there anything else? Anything I could or shouldn't do?"

_Yeah, we shouldn't be doing this. We should be stopping. It's gonna get harder, not easier._

_But I thought I'd have more time with you._

"M…maybe you could put your mouth there?"

Trish's jaw dropped a bit. "On your boob?"

"Ugh, it sounds so not sexy when you say it like that," Jessica groaned. "Forget it."

"No, no, I'm sorry—I just wouldn't have thought… although, I guess nobody would ever try getting away with that on a subway," she mused aloud.

A moment ago Trish's wandering hands had noticed the lack of a bra strap – which made sense, given that Jessica had been in bed. She was surprised by the boldness of this new request, but was eager to do her best to accommodate it. Trish quickly pulled her hair up into a bun so it wouldn't get in the way, then planted her hands on either side of Jessica and leaned down, giving the tip of Jessica's breast a very light kiss through a thin shirt. A shirt so thin it might as well have not been there – at least, that was her thought as she kissed the spot again, more purposefully this time, and felt it starting to harden.

_Oh, holy shit. Holy shit_ , Jessica thought, tensing and grabbing fistfuls of grass to keep her hands from latching onto Trish's head and holding it in place. Trish's tongue slid over her. _HOLY SHIIIIIII—_

There was a muffled smacking sound as Trish looked up, having felt Jessica tense all over. "Sorry, was that too much?"

_—IIIIIIIIIIIT._

"Not too much," Jessica gasped. "Too real. Shit's too real."

She grabbed Trish, pulling her upwards for a rough kiss. One of Trish's legs was brought up hard between Jessica's, and with a moan, Jessica's hands found Trish's hips and pulled them into a thrusting motion. They maintained the kiss until Jessica seized up, and limply fell back onto the grass.

Sarcasm escaped her.

"Whoa," she gasped. "You're a little hellcat, aren't ya?" They both laughed a little, still breathless. "Uh. Okay. That was a hell of a way to end that part of our, uh, relationship, I guess."

Of course they both soon discovered that ending such intimacies was easier said than done; that you couldn't just shake hands and leave it at that and still try to remain best friends. They never quite neared the level they had in the backyard, or the time Trish had sought relief for herself while Jessica lay next to her.

It came in moments when they were watching TV together when there were no staff in the room. Jessica's arm would somehow wind up over Trish's shoulder, and they might kiss during a commercial break if they were certain no one was around and they had a brief window. One time Mrs. Walker had been so sick she couldn't accompany Trish to the set, and Jessica had gone in her stead in the car. With the partition up between themselves and the driver, Trish had again rested in Jessica's arms, indulging in kissing her every so often.

Jessica finally had a moment of clarity when she saw a trade magazine with a photo of Trish and Jonny Driscoll on the cover, holding hands and smiling. The headline was gushing all over the new cute couple, and Jessica was uncomfortable with the confusing mixture of emotions swelling in her chest at the sight of it. Trish deserved more than stolen moments. And they were still risking a bit too much.

The next morning, Trish saw a note that had been slipped under her door:

_I think we should be more careful about spending time alone together. This hurts bad enough already and it's just going to be harder if we try to maintain all that other stuff. I've been having the shittiest year and I'm not religious or anything but you have felt like you're heaven-sent. And I don't mean because of the kissing. I just mean because of you. You're so amazing and if you'd still like to be friends, I want that so badly too. It's the only thing left in my life that I really cherish right now. I want to hang out on set with you, I want to watch TV with you, I want to play tennis and go swimming and hiking or whatever with you. I want to draw in bed while you read your scripts, but with my door always open. I want to have serious conversations with you, but while we're sitting apart. Please don't hate me. I want us to be okay. To do that, I think we need to rip off the Band-Aid and for real just be friends. "Just"? That makes it sound like it's some kind of consolation prize. It's not. You're an incredible friend. I never thought I'd have a friend like you. It's more than enough for me. It has to be._

That was the closest Jessica ever got to an "I love you." Trish crumpled up the letter, bitter tears stinging at her eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to throw it out. She stashed it in a drawer and tried to will her sudden stomachache to go away.

Sitting on opposite ends of Jessica's bed, not touching one another, felt akin to a special brand of torture; it was almost physically painful. They might as well have been divided by a gulf. At least once, Trish glanced over to see that Jessica's eyes looked red, but she didn't press it.

Their nights alone together were fewer and farther between, especially as Trish's publicist pushed her to go out more often with Jonny. She and Jessica established a habit of leaving notes under each other's doors (innocent, friendly ones, in case they fell into the wrong hands), and that became a salve to the wounds they had inflicted by repressing themselves. After Jessica had been visiting the set quite a bit, a cameraman's son – who would also visit after school – asked her out. He was cute and very considerate, and she decided to go for it. She didn't stop to consider that it was selfish of her to use him as a distraction, but it worked, and he seemed to like it for what it was.

It took them the better part of a year, but Jessica and Trish eventually learned how to get back to being friends. Secrets were shared, jokes exchanged, and stories told late into the night – but never while lying next to each other under the covers. Trish threw herself into work to distract herself, and that did it for her for a while. A sort of dull ache resonated within them both during these times spent together, sometimes sharper than others as they mourned what they'd once shared and wondered how long it would take to get over it.

What was always worst was when Trish would go back to her room at the end of the night. She was always exhausted and would fall right asleep, but Jessica's insomnia struck her frequently in Trish's absence. She had become dependent on having someone by her side to hold, and to hold her.

Jessica never told Trish how many pillows she had inadvertently destroyed by squeezing them too tightly in the middle of the night, aching for something to embrace her back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *NOTE: This chapter takes place after the events of the show. The first three chapters were a prologue to Trish and Jessica's canon relationship; these last two will be the epilogue. All canon events have happened at this point in the story.

Kilgrave had been dead for nearly forty-six hours.

Neither Jessica nor Trish had gotten a moment's sleep since.

They had been sitting on Trish's couch in silence for nearly an hour, just watching TV and not really paying attention. It was a shown on the Discovery Channel about crab fishing or something. Loud, dramatic, ridiculous. Jessica noticed that every time she shifted her position, even just to brush her hair behind her ear, Trish's eyes would flick towards her. _She's waiting for something._

The remote was lying right next to Jessica. With as little movement as possible, she hit the power button and said, "Hey."

Trish abruptly turned to look at her. "Yeah?"

The courteous thing to do would be to meet her gaze, but Jessica's stare was glued to the now-blank television screen. "It occurred to me that I never really thanked you for what you did. I know you'll probably say it goes without saying, and normally that's more than fine enough for me, but I should've thanked you. I know I kept trying to keep you out of this, but what you did at the end… that was more than you ever should've been exposed to and I should've thanked you for it."

"Well, I'm not gonna act like it wasn't terrifying," Trish sighed. "I mean at first, with the headphones, I felt totally fine. Confident, even. It was only when they fell off that it really scared me, really hit me. But I knew the risks going in, Jess. I was prepared to take those risks. You have to believe that."

"I _did_ believe it, that's why I was okay with you doing it," Jessica grumbled.

"Oh, you were _not_ okay with it," Trish scoffed, and Jessica looked over, surprised to see she was laughing a little. "But you knew Kilgrave could only get to you through me or Luke. You needed me. And it's okay to need people."

"You already were put under his control once. I hate that he got you again, that he—that he made you _kiss_ him," Jessica groaned. "I should've ripped his head off right then. I could've gotten to him in time."

"Only if you've recently added the ability to fly to your superpower repertoire and didn't tell me. You had to make sure you got him; you had one chance. You made the right call."

"Geez, you're making me feel like an asshole for trying to thank you. This is why it's so hard for me to have these goddamn conversations, Trish."

Although Jessica's voice was starting to rise, Trish kept hers calm: "This started as a thank you, but spiraled into a guilt-ridden apology."

"I'm not allowed to feel guilt?"

"Yes, of course you are," Trish said in the sort of patient tone that Jessica usually found patronizing from other people. "But when you do that, you need to remember that you're not Kilgrave. You're not him. You did not make me do anything; you did not force my hand. I knew the risks. It was _my_ choice."

Jessica studied her face for what felt like a very long time. Particularly in recent weeks, she had seen Trish's countenance overcome too often with fear, anger, or sadness. She was always impressed with how calm Trish's face could be most of the time, though. Maybe it was all the years of experience in front of a camera—maybe you just learned how to keep a lid on your emotions, your expressions, for the sake of appearances. Or maybe Trish really did belong to the dying breed of people who could be sincere in their calmness.

Trish had always been sincere.

"Well, I guess you finally got your wish, sort of," Jessica drawled. "Wanted to save the world, right? By helping get rid of Kilgrave, you at least saved a pretty good part of it."

"Nice perk, but I didn't do it to save the world. I did it to help you."

There was a pause, and then Jessica laughed. It was not a cruel or mocking sound, but more of a laugh of disbelief. "How the hell do we work? How do you put up with all my messed-up shit?"

It'd been meant as a rhetorical question, which Jessica had assumed would be met with an eye roll or a laugh. But of course Trish had a response: "I don't mean to make this sound like I'm minimizing your pain, or prioritizing anything before your feelings, but here's my answer: my love for you is bigger than your hurt."

At that moment, Jessica instinctively felt that she could not suffer another moment without touching Trish in some way. She inched closer and as soon as she indicated that the space was available, Trish practically fell forward into her arms. For the most part Jessica was still sitting; Trish had spread out the whole length of the couch, her head placed in a position where she could hear Jessica's heartbeat. She closed her eyes and listened.

After a long but comfortable silence, Jessica remarked, "I feel like we should be listening to Boyz II Men."

"What?"

"Lying together like this. It's like when we were kids. I'd try to get you into Nirvana and the Clash, but you were all Shania Twain and Boyz II Men."

"Which, if you think about it, reflects a pretty mature range of musical taste."

Jessica snorted, and it came out sounding like a laugh. "Range, sure. Mature, I don't think so."

It was a few moments before Trish said, "You pulled up that recollection pretty quick."

The reflex normally might've been a would-be casual shrug, but that was difficult to do with Trish lying on top of her. "It's like muscle memory, holding you like this."

"So…do you remember the other stuff we used to do?"

And the impulse here was to say something snarky, but Jessica buried it immediately. Besides, she knew the real question Trish was getting at wasn't one of remembrance; she just wanted to talk about it. "Yeah, I remember."

Trish could both feel and hear Jessica's heartbeat quicken, and she wondered whether that was a good or a bad thing. She sat up so she could better look Jessica in the eye. "Do you ever think about it?"

Jessica's voice was flat and her expression neutral. "I used to, when we were younger."

"And…you've done that with other women, right? What we did?"

"No."

"No? But you've told me—"

"I've told you about messing around with other women. Dating a few. But I never did what we did. You know, all the emotional crap and the cuddling and whatever the hell else. Come to think of it, I never did that much with men, either, until…" _Luke, goddamn him_. "Never mind. That kinda stuff can't be forced, y'know? And I didn't have to force it with you. Maybe I just got high standards after that. Maybe I was just sabotaging myself the whole time, caught up with my own bullshit. Held onto that first love a little too long."

Trish raised her eyebrows. "First love?"

"Oh, yeah. I didn't really realize it until your mother successfully got us to stop sleeping together, but yeah. It dawned on me that I totally had a crush on you, maybe more than a crush on you. It was pretty confusing, to be honest."

This was something she had never really planned on admitting, especially not so casually. But now it somehow felt like very pertinent information to share, and what's more, something she could say without a trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment—a general hallmark of her relationship with Trish, except perhaps for that six-month stretch after her first round of Kilgrave. Maybe this meant normality—whatever the hell that was—had been re-established in some way. Jessica never could have or would have admitted to her crush when it'd first occurred to her, but so many years later, it wasn't so awful to talk about it.

_Maybe we've been ships passing in the night all this time since. Maybe the time is now._

"So…that's all in the past, huh?" Trish ventured.

_You sly little shit. You're gonna make me say it first, huh? Fine._ "There was one other time I almost blew my cover on that dock with Kilgrave."

Not sure where this was going, Trish tentatively asked, "When?"

Jessica sighed. "Way back when your mother confronted me about, uh, my feelings for you, she tried to pull that sister card with me. Like, think how disgusted people would be to find out you wanted to bone your sister. And I laughed in her face. I laughed because she'd never intended to raise us as or let us feel like sisters in any way. For a long time we just existed under the same roof, but then we became friends. That's how I always saw you. So when Kilgrave came along the other night and was the first person in however many goddamn years to refer to you as my sister—my _beloved_ sister, no less—my first impulse was to laugh. I might've laughed, too, if I hadn't been scared out of my damn mind for you."

"Well, he likes to be dramatic, right?" Trish reasoned. "Maybe he didn't think referring to me as your BFF would have the same _gravitas_." When Jessica grimaced a the word "BFF," Trish smiled and asked, "Okay, what _should_ he have called me, then?"

_My savior. My friend. My angel. My love. My dearest._

_My God, when did I get so sappy?_

"Somethin' else," Jessica whispered. "Because sisters are not supposed to want each other the way I want you."

Some nervous laughter escaped Trish. She rubbed the back of her neck, and Jessica steeled herself for some form of rejection. "You know what's kind of funny?" Trish asked. "I feel like if we were kids now, if _Patsy_ was on now, my mother might've been thrilled that we were fooling around. She'd probably see it as some great publicity stunt we could use to show how liberal and cool—"

"Trish."

"What?"

"Your mom's not here. _Patsy_ is gone. I just kinda came on to you, and now the question is, what're you gonna do about it?"

Trish swallowed. _Rip your clothes off. Touch you anywhere I can reach. Feel your hands on me_.

"Sorry," Jessica sighed. "You're probably used to big romantic overtures and all that, aren't you?"

"Eh. Those can get kinda tiresome," Trish said with a shrug and a smirk.

"Okay, so…" Jessica offered a cheesy wink. "You got nice tits."

"A little nicer than that, you asshole. You'd clock a guy if that was his opener with me!"

"You know I'm no good at all that romantic bullshit, Trish."

With faux innocence, Trish batted her eyelashes and asked, "What romantic bullshit?"

"Ugh…"

Trish took a short breath. "Look, Jess? I'm going to be honest with you. Learning how to go back to just being friends with you was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. When you slipped that letter under my door—I mean, I know it was for the best at the time, but I could practically feel my heart splitting in two. Obviously we were able to make it work eventually, and thank God we did, but …I don't know what I'll do if I have to face that a second time."

Jessica could feel the tension creeping back in, and she did not like it. "So are you giving me an ultimatum? Make a lifelong commitment or nothing?"

"The way I see it, we already have a lifelong commitment. You are my closest friend, Jess, which means you can bet your ass that I'm going to be in your life until one of us dies—hopefully way, way in the future. I just want to make sure that we're on the same page."

_Shit, was I not clear enough? Does she think I just want this to be a friends with benefits kind of thing?_

"You don't know if I'm serious about you," Jessica realized. It looked like Trish was trying to come up with a better way to articulate it, but when she failed to do so, Jessica figured she'd pretty much at least gotten the gist. "Okay. You know what I think Kilgrave should've called you when he was taunting me? I think he should've stopped before he said sister."

_Your beloved sister._

_Your beloved._

_Oh._

If the lighting in the room hadn't been so dim, Jessica would've seen Trish's cheeks starting to tinge red. "Sorry," Jessica mumbled. "I'm usually better at showing than telling."

"I know, I know." Trish's voice was patient, soft like a caress. Her voice lowered even more, her tone indicating a casual suggestion rather than a command: "So show me."


	5. Connected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow! Been a long-ass time, huh? I was rewatching JJ to prepare for season 2, and it brought back the muse to write this long-overdue conclusion. Thanks for reading to this point! Hopefully this addition is better late than never.

An achingly long silence passed, during which Trish wondered whether it’d be worth it to have mind–reading as a superpower. Most of the time Jessica was pretty forthcoming, but the times she wasn’t were usually the instances where Trish would give anything to know what was going on inside her head.

At that moment, she would not quite have been able to guess that Jessica was biting back words like, _Shit, Trish. You’re doing it to me again. You’re making me want to get all romantic and shit and what the hell? How the hell do you do this to me?_

(Kilgrave had been such a damn traditional romantic. To his twisted mind, he had never done anything wrong because in bed he had never acted physically forceful or made it rough. Why would he need to when his mere words were powerful enough to do the trick? He liked to fancy himself a gentleman and her an eager lady. His touch was gentle, but did not feel like a caress. Her lips moved softly, not from reverence or respect, but because it was what he commanded.)

(She had liked to think she broke the bed with Luke because they could, and it was a laugh. But maybe subconsciously it was something—anything—to get away from that fake fucking tenderness Kilgrave had tried to establish with his idea of “lovemaking.”)

_But this needs to be its own thing. It can be different from him, and different from Luke. It’s been Trish the whole damn time._

Jessica got up off the couch and held out her hand for Trish to take; in a moment they were standing almost toe–to–toe. Trish was surprised to feel Jessica’s hands were cold and a little sweaty clasped within her own—and, unless Trish was very much mistaken, they were trembling. The trembling stopped when their foreheads touched.

“I’ve…um…been burned before,” Jessica muttered, her usual wryness absent. “Never again,” Trish whispered. “Not while I’m around.”

Though a meager smile passed at the sincere sentiment, Jessica said, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Trish. I believe your intentions, but let’s not get carried away here.”

Trish’s instinct was to protest, but she took a moment to consider what Jessica was saying. Just because Kilgrave was gone didn’t mean his effect would be; they had learned that the first time they’d believed him to be dead.

“God damn, why do I keep doing this to myself?” Jessica snorted. “You know what I keep thinking of?”

“What?”

“Something you said to me. You said… you told me that when this was all over, when I won, you hoped I’d finally allow myself some happiness. And then I run my big mouth like some kinda dipshit when I’ve got a pretty good idea what’d make me happy. It’s just an extension of what’s kept me sane through all of this.”

“You know that would make me happy too, right?”

Jessica swiftly picked her up, and after getting over her initial surprise, Trish smiled and wrapped her legs around Jessica’s waist. Taking Jessica’s face in her hands with a gentle touch, Trish dipped her head down to kiss her. It was short and delicate, yet enlivening almost beyond belief.

The impulse was to kiss her back immediately, but Jessica first walked them over to the bed, depositing Trish in the middle of it and balancing herself over her. Trish’s hand slid from Jessica’s face, receiving a kiss on the palm on its way down. Jessica lowered her head and Trish lifted her own to meet her in a kiss, but Jessica shifted to the side, brushing her lips against Trish’s cheek. Dark hair tickled Trish’s skin, just as the breath from her shaky—satisfied—sigh broke against Jessica’s. Short, manicured nails grazed Jessica’s back, digging in a little harder as Jessica left a longer, more purposeful kiss on Trish’s neck.

_She said to just show her. But you could at least say something. Anything. She deserves much more, but definitely at least that._

“I like that you call me Jess,” she whispered. “Jess” was short, sweet, to the point. Not drawn out to three full syllables in a commanding or condescending tone. Not cutesy like “Jessie.” Just Jess.

“It suits you,” came the murmured reply. Trish didn’t want to wait any longer and she reached for Jessica’s head, bringing their lips together again. Her fingers traced Jessica’s cheeks before rising up into her hair.

“You’ll say, right?” Jessica asked. “You’ll say if I’m hurting you, or I’m doing something you don’t like?”

“Of course,” Trish replied. “Jess, we’re here because we both want to be here. Nobody can come between us anymore, not my mother and not K—”

“Trish.”

She looked surprised to be getting cut off. “What?”

“Let's not talk about that.” Her tone was serious, but not angry or demanding. Trish nodded her understanding. Jessica then sat up on her knees, pulling her hair back. “This is getting in the way.” It was a small thing, but she liked that even while she was performing this simple utilitarian task, Trish’s touch hadn’t stilled. Her hands lightly massaged Jessica’s thighs as Jessica made quick work of putting her hair into a sloppy bun and lowered herself back down.

This was a strange sensation: she felt jittery and calm all at once, hovering over Trish. There was so much she wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure how to put it all into words. And even if she could, it’d feel like too much. If she tried to articulate any of the joy, guilt, love, or desperation coursing through her at this very moment, she’d probably never shut up.

_That’s why you’re here, genius. She said to show her. Make it count. Show her._

One hand was planted on the bed near Trish’s shoulder, holding Jess up, while the other had restlessly been moving along Trish’s side before Jessica forced herself to stop dawdling and get into action. But she had only planted one kiss on Trish’s neck before she started chuckling.

“Do I want to know what that’s about?” Trish asked.

“Reminiscing a minute ago about the music we used to make each other listen to, I just thought of that terrible, cheesy Boyz II Men song you loved so much.”

“'One Sweet Day'?”

“No, the…” Jessica was looking down at her now, their eyes locked, and her breath seemed to vanish for a moment. There was so much love and trust evident in Trish’s gaze; she wondered how she’d managed to go so long avoiding what it really meant. “Y’know, that stupid one one that went like…” She cleared her throat and when her voice returned it was quiet, but still trying to keep things light as her whisper mimicked a power ballad: “I’ll make love to you, if you want me to.” She was still trying to laugh, but Trish wasn’t joining in.

With a completely serious tone, Trish said, “I want you to.”

That simple phrase knocked away any of Jessica’s last remaining hesitations, and she met Trish in a kiss. Memories came flooding back to her – she remembered the newness and uncertainty which had colored the first kisses they’d shared all those years ago, when neither of them had had any experience and were still figuring things out. Self-consciousness had no place in their bed tonight, but that didn’t mean the complete erasure of anything new.

Her lips traveled down Trish’s chest, hands preparing to pull up her shirt. But she paused, kissing the tip of Trish’s breast through her t-shirt. No words were necessary to know they were both reliving the same memory of the last time they had tried fooling around as kids, when the farthest they’d gone was to have Trish do this same thing to Jess. But with a soft moan and slow roll of the hips from Trish, Jessica snapped the nostalgia short and helped Trish remove her top.

She couldn’t help pausing again, and later—when she was still lying awake at night as Trish slept by her side—she would contemplate how she’d been unable to hesitate like this during sex for quite some time. Once Kilgrave got going, he didn’t like to stop, and given the option, she’d be damned if she ever drew out a round with him. She’d had some nice moments with Luke in the quietness afterwards, but during the actual act the main focus was on physical gratification. There’d been too much discomfort and distrust (with herself) to allow much time for other kinds of appreciation. The burgeoning personal connection to Luke had had to be compartmentalized for any hope of making the physical connection to work.

But this, here, this was like livewires crossing and she could not help stopping—not to stare, but to admire.

“Oh, _wow_.”

The words slipped out in a whisper just before she kissed Trish again, soon retracing her way back down to her breasts.

_Beautiful beautiful beautiful._

Trish’s back arched, her mouth opened to a silent gasp. Her hands latched onto Jessica’s head, while Jessica tried not to get too greedy even as she was already blindly tugging down Trish’s sweats. She wasn’t rushing because she wanted it over with; she was rushing because it was all too good to be true and she couldn’t get enough. Savoring was a skill she had lost years ago but was now desperate to regain.

She moved back up, meeting Trish in a deep kiss, but not for long: she broke it off with an involuntary gasp when her hand brushed between Trish’s legs. “Shit,” she whispered. “Trish, you’re so…”

“Mm, I know.” Trish rolled her hips again, seeking more contact. “Jess, please…”

Jessica moved her hand forward and was about to kiss her again but held back when Trish swore and moaned. Trish’s eyes were screwed shut, missing the sight of Jessica regarding her in awe. She didn’t want a single sound from Trish to be muted by a kiss. She wanted to hear every whimper, every groan, every breathy swear that came tumbling from that beautiful mouth. Jessica shifted, keeping her hand at a fervent pace between Trish’s legs and her returning her lips to Trish’s breast. One then both of Trish’s hands went back to Jessica’s head, holding her there until Trish tensed, her body straining to move and not to budge at the same time.

Jessica had been so lost in what she was doing that she was almost surprised when Trish’s full weight relaxed. She brought her hand back around to Trish’s thigh and moved up the bed to rest next to her.

“That was quick,” she whispered.

It was hard to tell if Trish was annoyed or amused by the quip until her eyes opened and fixed on Jessica’s, and her small smile reached them. She reached over to rest her fingers on Jessica’s cheek and inched closer, bringing their foreheads together. “Feels like I’ve been waiting a long time.”

They stayed side-by-side, kissing until Trish realized her sweats were still strung along her ankles. She laughed and ducked away to remove them altogether. When she rolled back, Jessica was watching her hesitantly.

“Jess?” She got close again, taking gentle hold of Jessica’s waist and fingering the hem of her shirt. “What do you, um, what do you want?”

“I want…”

Her head spun with the possibilities, and with appreciation that Trish asked instead of took. Jessica sat up a little, turning off the lamp on the nightstand and plunging the room into darkness. This made it more comfortable for her to undress quickly, and she soon rejoined Trish under the sheets.

_I just want to feel your body against mine._

Jessica leaned forward for another kiss, bringing their bodies together. One of Trish’s legs slipped between hers, and Jessica moaned at the contact. She shifted onto her back, pulling Trish on top of her and then Trish’s hands were on her body and _oh God, oh God, oh God—!_ Jessica rolled her hips upwards as Trish thrust against her. Every part of her was tensing with pleasure before she fell limp.

Trish propped herself up as a precursor to moving off, but stopped when Jessica touched her hip. Her other hand skirted down Trish’s body until it stopped between her legs. “Shit, that’s not fair,” Trish whimpered, her limbs weakening.

Jessica pulled back at once, even though she wasn’t sure what Trish meant about fairness. “Should I stop?”

“No!” Trish laughed. “No, no, no, God, no, I’m just babbling. Come on.” She met Jessica in another kiss.

It didn’t take long for Trish to collapse on top of her with deep, shuddering breaths. Jessica’s arms encircled her. She kissed Trish’s forehead and closed her eyes. After a minute or two, Trish pulled back again, kissing Jessica’s cheek and then her lips. She slowly moved off Jessica and this time met no resistance. Jessica shifted to kiss her again, but it was different this time. This was after-play, not foreplay; these kisses weren’t building up to something, they were winding down. It was lazy and slow and comfortable.

Comfort, yes. There was comfort in returning to this familiarity. They had fallen asleep like this many times as teenagers, albeit with less sex and more clothes back then. But they would lie there and kiss until consciousness ebbed away, and they would trade off on big spoon/little spoon roles. Usually though, Trish would curl into Jessica’s side and rest her head on her chest, sometimes in a position to listen to Jessica’s heartbeat. Those were the times Jessica most often opened up: still vulnerable and emotional and keyed up from making out, and feeling protected by the darkness and Trish’s closeness.

It happened again tonight.

“I think my parents liked my brother more than they liked me.”

Trish lifted her head off Jessica’s shoulder to look at her, wondering if she’d heard that right. “What?”

Jessica kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Maybe not at first, but at the end I think so. I can’t blame them, though. He was a funny, well-behaved kid and I was a whiny, obnoxious teenager. Well, I mean you know that.”

“I would never think of you as whiny. You were obnoxious, for sure.” They shared a chuckle over that. “But not whiny.”

“Yeah,” Jessica said with a deep sigh. “Angsty as fuck, though. I’ve never talked about this, because it seemed like a shitty thing to be fixated on. Like we should only have warm and fuzzy feelings about people who are gone, and anything else isn’t or shouldn’t be allowed. That’s what the school psychologist made me feel like, anyway.”

“Well then she was a sucky psychologist,” Trish said without hesitation.

“I dunno, I didn’t listen to her half the time, so I’m sure I’m not giving her due her credit. I don’t know where the hell all my anger issues came from before my parents died. Maybe that was just normal teen angst, and then it got amplified. I was pissed at them for dying because it meant I couldn’t be mad at them anymore,” she said with a sour laugh.

Of course, that wasn’t all, and they both knew it. Jessica appreciated that she didn’t have to outline all her thoughts, that Trish could be counted upon to fill in the blanks more often than not. When she remembered that, it made sharing thoughts out loud much less of a daunting task.

“Parents shouldn’t have favorites, and I’m sure they didn’t, really. But I think I’ve always been kind of ...sad.” A word she hated to use, but no others seemed to apply. “Sad because I didn’t feel like I came in first with anyone. For a long time I felt like my parents would’ve wanted my brother to live instead of me, if they’d somehow had a choice.”

Trish said nothing, but strengthened her hold on Jessica. The gesture provided more comfort and reassurance than empty words could have. Jessica acknowledged it by rubbing Trish’s back before going on.

“You were the first person who ever made me feel like I came in first with someone. And I don’t mean in a romantic way, or whatever. I just mean _any_ way. I thought I came in second with my parents. My friends at school put me on the bottom rung. I didn’t think I cared about anyone and that I didn’t need to. But then you started hanging out in my room, every night, and I... it’s like I started being human again. I could laugh. I could feel. Jesus,” she sighed. “I was so damn needy; I’m hearing it now.”

Trish propped herself up. “Jess?” Her eyes had adjusted to the dark by now, but not quite enough to make out the nuances of Jessica’s expression. “It’s not needy to want to feel things, okay? It’s not needy to want to feel, well, needed. Okay, I hear it now, but you know what I mean, right?”

Jessica snorted and put her arm around Trish, pulling her back down. “See, this is what I meant about being better at showing than telling.”

“I think you were doing a pretty good job. Was there more?”

The silence that followed was so long that Trish thought maybe Jessica had exhausted her emotional reserves. But then she started again, her voice softer than before:

“After you and I um, cooled off, I never thought I’d have that again. More teen angst, I guess, but this was my fault because I said it’d be better for us to spend more time with other people. Or spend less time alone. And then the shit with Kilgrave...”

“We don’t have to talk about that,” Trish whispered. “I know. Yeah. I messed up after that first time. I thought it’d be best for both of us if I kept my distance, but damn was that a bad idea. Thanks, Trish. Thanks for being there. Thanks for... everything.”

Trish kissed her cheek, and Jessica turned to meet her lips with her own. The blazing desire that had earlier surged through them both had now simmered to a different, but no less pleasurable, kind of want. Trish shifted her leg across both of Jessica’s, and Jessica grasped it gently, pulling her in just to feel her close. She traced her fingers along Trish’s back; Trish hummed into their kiss.

“I know it didn’t always show,” Jessica murmured. “And you probably already know this by now, but you never stopped being my number one. So I guess this…” She went in for another kiss. “…was maybe inevitable.”

“In a good way, I hope?”

“Yeah, Trish. A good way.”

Trish kissed Jessica’s nose, and laughed when Jessica’s response was to wrinkle it. “Jess?”

“Yeah, Trish?”

“I love you, too.”

**The End**


End file.
